


Baby's Day Out

by SuperClark_BatBruce



Series: Alternative Universes [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred is a little shit, Babysitting, Baking, Bruce is an idiot, Charming Bruce Wayne, Clark is a little shit, Clark is an idiot, Cuddling & Snuggling, Diana is a little shit, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Everyone except Bruce is a little shit and even Bruce is a little shit, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Gen, Gratuitous manipulation of a child for the purposes of good, M/M, Magic, Protein bar love, Screw gender roles, Sorry Not Sorry, The television is a babysitter too, kid!wally, shameless flirting, wally is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 22:03:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7332289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperClark_BatBruce/pseuds/SuperClark_BatBruce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Wally West gets de-aged into a toddler, forcing Bruce to babysit with Clark's help. Clark has also secretly been dating Bruce, without Bruce's knowledge every Tuesday for the past few months or so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby's Day Out

**Author's Note:**

> An RP written by sonxfkrypton and doyoubleedxyouwill on tumblr
> 
> A "-" denotes where each writer stopped and started.

An uneasy silence fell over the floor after Zatanna’s feed cut out. Faced by a dilemma none of them were prepared for, the World’s Mightiest Heroes exchanged uneasy glances, all the while trying to hide that they were.

Wonder Woman broke the tension.

“Are you looking at me because you think that as a woman, I would be more parental?”

“What? No!” Superman rushed to reassure he, but her smile was a thing of beauty and unapologetic satisfaction.

“Then I’m sure you or Batman will have no trouble handling this situation yourselves.” She was halfway to the door before Superman could pick up his jaw.

On the floor, swathed in Superman’s cape like a bright red burrito was a very tiny, very young Wally West, better known to the world at large as the Flash. And flash, he certainly did. There wasn’t much on the Watchtower that fit a toddler, and the air friction of moving at super speed had burned almost everything they’d been able to put him in. Now though, he seemed content with sucking on the corner of Superman’s cape. 

If he ever turned back to normal, they would never let him live this down.

-

Batman was scowling harder than usual, staring at the dark screen, his mind working double time to try and figure out what they were going to do. He stole a glance at Wonder Woman but quickly looked away at her accusation, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. He refused to look at Wally grateful that the idiot was finally _still_ for longer than a few seconds. What a disaster. 

There was a happy cooing sound that probably sounded cute but just grated on Batman’s already frayed nerves. “I know a few knots that don’t chafe…” he offered, “If we use the right rope, it would be…” No, no, that wouldn’t do. As much as Bruce wanted to tie up and gag Wally on a good day, to subject a child to that was well beyond his line of acceptable and he sighed heavily. 

“At least the Watchtower is basically childproof?” again, another almost lie, almost, “Well, this room, at least? Oh god, are we going to have to take him to the mansion? Maybe that’s better? Alfred could help…”

-

”Bruce!”

The worst part, the absolute worst part was that for a good  two seconds, Superman had no idea if the other hero was joking or not. It as enough for him to scoop Wally off of the ground, eliciting a delighted shriek from the toddler, who wiggled extra hard in his nest of red cape. Superman was even more worried that he would crush him than he usually was.

“We’re not leaving Wally in a building with teleporters.” Superman explained, and he sounded like he could not believe he needed to explain that. They had never been tested on children, and Wally was both fast and wily enough to accidentally send himself to Siberia. 

Unfortunately that was the wrong thing to say. The speedster let out a gasp, clapping his hands over his face, his eyes bugging out of his head, before he asked in unabashed awe, “We have a teleporter?”

-

“No!” Batman’s answer came far too quickly and he leaned over, one hand holding himself up as the other wiped over his face. He was already far too tired for this. Give him thugs and criminals, give him mobsters and aliens, anything, anything but children. He could hardly be faulted for preferring adult company or, at the very least, a well behaved 10 year old or however old the boys might be at the orphanage. The orphanage! Maybe they could just leave Wally there with the… no, no that wouldn’t do, he’d be naked within minutes and surely up to no good soon after. 

“We…” Batman sighed again and looked at Superman with a frown, “I’ll call ahead and have Alfred… prepare…. something…..”

Alfred seemed far too happy with the prospect of Wally and Superman visiting, not even dissuaded by Batman’s description of Wally’s predicament. “He’s a _toddler_ , Alfred, you don’t-…”

“Well, it will be quite something to have a young man back in the house! I’m sure he will be a delight. Ta-ta, Master Bruce, I shall prepare a room and some snacks for our guests…”

Batman didn’t even have time to protest before Alfred hung up on him. 

“He doesn’t understand…” Batman mumbled to himself as he headed towards the batjet, trying hard not to watch Superman and Wally being ridiculous in the middle of the room, “Come on, Superman, the sooner we get the Manor the sooner we have Alfred’s help…”

-

Clark was pretty sure that Batman would have taken a death sentence with more grace. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d seen him do just that once or  twice. It wasn’t a sentiment he shared. While he knew that looking after _The Flash_ was a challenge in itself, regardless of Wally’s personality, Clark was generally pretty fond of kids. They were easy to get along with, incredibly goofy, and even if the speed force meant Wally was still faster than Superman (technically), he was a good kid. He just wasn’t a kid you could look away from.

“Is it in your pocket?” Wally asked, slurring just a little. There was drool all over the cape now. Clark would need to wash it at Wayne Manor. 

“What?”

“The teleporter.” Wally asked, very seriously. “Is it in your pocket?”

Clark waited a beat, his face carefully, pointedly blank before he asked, “Why would you wanna teleport when you can fly?”

When Batman turned, Clark had Wally on his shoulders as he flew around, mostly vertical, leaving the speedster whooping and howling until they came to a halt in front of Batman. “What do you say, Wally?” Superman asked, very stern and officious as he gently lowered his charge to the ground. “Do you want to ride with Batman?”

The speedster’s eyes were as wide as quarters. He shucked in as much air as he could before cheering, and waddled like a duckling after Bruce, dragging his cape across the ground. Clark made no move to follow them.

-

Batman heard the exchange as he approached the door and he stopped, gripping the handle tightly as he hung his head and muttered  _“Why would a_ teleporter _be in a_ pocket _”_  under his breath before turning to watch the chaos in front of him. His head started to turn a little as soon as Superman stopped in front of him, predicting his intentions before they were out of his mouth. 

“No…” he didn’t exactly run away from the door and from Wally, but he walked briskly back towards the screen, “I’m not riding with anyone… we’ve got to get to the mansion, Clark, this isn’t funny.”

Wally’s cheering turned into a demonic shriek as he used his speed to get in front of Bruce, cutting him off and latching onto his leg with an equally demonic giggle. “No, Wally, get… get off of me…” Bruce bent down and tried to pry Wally’s arms from around his calf, “This isn’t how friends treat each other, Wally…”

The last thing he wanted to do was actually hurt the kid so he didn’t know how hard he was allowed to pull. It was all very undignified, Bruce bent in half, trying not to curse, shuffling around to try and get better leverage as Wally squealed happily.

-

If Bruce had told him that Wally sounded anywhere near demonic, Clark would have asked if his cowl was on too tight. Wally was excited, a little too excited, but that was probably better than having him cower in fear. 

“Wally.” Clark said, and the voice was all Superman, soft and stern and addressing a room full of civilians, and the speedster paused, looking up from Bruce’s calf. “Let him go. You’re being hurtful.”

Wally’s expression bunched up the way you could crumple a paper ball, but Clark remained unfazed until he carefully shuffled away. Clark ruffled his hair, then ordered, “Now take Batman’s hand. You don’t want to get lost.”

He straightened his posture, idly wondering if he looked ridiculous without the cape. He always thought that was pat of the whole outfit, and without something to _swish_  behind his back, it felt weird. He’d ask Bruce when Bruce’s sense of humor wasn’t so challenged. 

“Air Superman doesn’t have seat belts.” He commented dryly. “And there’s a cat stuck in a tree in Metropolis.” His smile was easy, and his tone never shifted, but there was no sense in worrying a child about a potential metahuman attack downtown. Besides, it was _Superman’s_ town. He’d be back in a bit.

-

Bruce looked up when Clark spoke, not sure whether to be grateful or insulted. He really was torn and he was feeling both with equal intensity as Wally let go and grabbed his hand. He’d never been so grateful for his gloves in his entire life as he watched the drool being smeared over his palm and fingers. Disgusting.

“Cl-…” his protestation was cut off, not even able to get a word out before Clark was gone to take care of the “cat”, leaving Bruce alone with Wally. Letting out a beleaguered sigh, Bruce looked down at the boy who was looking up at him with wide eyes and bubbles on his chin. 

He could do this. He was the god damn Batman!

“Wally,” he started calmly, making sure the kid was looking at him before continuing, “Look, we both like Superman better, I get it, so let’s work together while he’s gone and… make him proud.” Bruce’s attempt at a smile was actually not half bad and Wally returned it happily.

“Ooo-kay.” his head bobbed in an exaggerated manner and Bruce let out a relieved breath.

“Good, come on, we’ll get a snack before we go…” the Watchtower kitchens were less than ideal for snacks for children, but Bruce managed to find a box of digestive cookies - probably Hal’s - that he stole for their purposes. 

The cookies kept Wally busy enough that Bruce got them to the ship, buckled in, and actually half way to the manor before the kid hiccuped and then fell asleep. Bruce would have been glad no one saw his face as he pulled Superman’s cape up to make sure Wally was covered and warm, his expression, had he been able to see it, was affectionate and soft almost wistful.

Wally snuggled in against Bruce’s neck as he entered the manor from the batcave, the man’s hand laid protectively over his head as he nodded to Alfred and shushed him before he spoke. Alfred, being ever the observant one, quickly removed Bruce’s cowl and cape so he could sit gingerly down on the couch without disturbing the boy’s slumber. If he stayed asleep, Bruce would bear the embarrassment of being a bed as long as possible.

-

“This is possibly the most adorable I have ever seen you.” 

Clark’s voice carried in from the staircase. His detour had taken longer to get around, but Maggie Sawyer and her people were handling clean up, and the threat had been neutralized, and he no longer smelled like ash and dust. He was in civilian clothing, the S tucked away and his hair was once again Kent-unkempt, but his glasses were nowhere to be found. He also sounded extremely smug in the way that Superman generally tried to reserve for defeated super villains. 

“There are surveillance cameras around here somewhere, right? Can I get copies of this moment?” He asked like he didn’t know exactly where the expensive Wayne Tech was hidden, and began unfolding a set of Wally-sized clothes. One of the shirts came with the bat logo. Clark’s smile had no right looking as earnest as it did. 

“I was worried about you two, but you’ve got everything under control.”

-

Bruce huffed as Clark’s voice woke Wally, the kid lifting his head, eyes seeking his favourite adult as soon as he heard him. The change in the boy when he fully awoke about 0.2 seconds later was spectacular. Bruce didn’t even have a chance to react before Wally was out of his arms, out of Superman’s cape, pawing at the clothes excitedly. 

“Oh for…” Bruce rolled his eyes hard, sitting forward and tossing the red cap towards Wally, trying, and failing, to catch it on his shoulders so that he wouldn’t have to see his bare bottom, “Those clothes going to stay in one piece?”

He stood and moved away, hand rubbing at the back of his neck, “I need to change…” he mumbled, pulling at the clasp of the utility belt, “You take it from here for a bit…”

-

“Probably not,” Clark replied, far too chipper for a man who’d just spent an embarrassing amount of money on little Batman pajamas. If Wally remembered any of this, he could be mortified. Clark thought that was a fair trade-off, particularly because… he was enjoying himself more than he should.

He always believed that Bruce could handle anything, and on more than one occasion, he’d seen Diana drop kick an android while gently cradling a baby in her arms, but he was probably the only one of them who would eagerly volunteer for the chance to babysit. Wally’s speed just… complicated things a little. A tiny naked blur would not have gone unnoticed in Clark’s just as tiny Metropolitan apartment. He almost (but only almost!) felt a little guilty for dropping in on Bruce like this, especially on a Tuesday, one of those unspoken Tuesdays of importance where he showed up like clockwork. But Bruce hadn’t commented on the pattern he’d undoubtedly noticed, so Clark just hoped that meant he didn’t really care. That was a can of worms in its own right. Clark helped Wally get his shorts on and tie his shoelaces.

“Okay, kiddo, trade off. No running allowed in Batman’s shirt, but we can go flying…”

And as Wally started babbling on about the _super space fighter plane_  Batman let him pilot, Clark leaned over to run a hand through Bruce’s hair, offering him a soft smile before he started to herd Wally towards the kitchen.

-

Bruce watched Clark as he helped Wally dress, wondering if he had ever been as uncoordinated as the kid seemed to be. Clark was a natural with children, they took to him like Poison Ivy took to a sale at the Gotham Home and Garden Centre. It would have been cute if Bruce hadn’t already been on his last nerve but suddenly, he seemed to have an endless abundance of nerves and all from one little smile and a quick caress through his hair. For a moment, Bruce’s brain shorted out and he stood staring at Clark’s receding figure before a shriek from Wally brought him back to the present. 

He turned and headed to the washroom, taking his time as he thought about everything, the mission, Wally, upcoming meetings at Wayne Enterprises, Clark, the fact that it was Tuesday. Tuesday, the day that had become something of a ritual between the two men, Clark always coming over without fail. They would share a meal and then, depending on the day and mission, they would either watch a movie, work out together (this mostly entailed Bruce working out and Clark being a prick, hovering as he ate popcorn and talked about anything and everything he could think of), or, Bruce’s favourite, talk through the night about the missions or their dreams, stuff that was more substantial than the usual chitchat. 

Now, Bruce’s Tuesday was ruined by the addition of an ankle-biter who was currently covered in flour and lord knew what, Clark in a similar situation while Alfred, somehow pristine as always, was just putting a cookie sheet in the oven. 

Running a hand through his still wet hair, Bruce frowned, “Those better be chocolate chip cookies…” there was a little bit of a twinkle in his eye, more than he usual gave so Wally would know he was teasing and the boy clapped loudly, a cloud of flour poofing out from it as he laughed.

-

Timers were set, and the over closed with a snap. All in all, Superman would count it as a win.

“They’re peanut butter, actually.” Clark said, jutting his jaw out, his back just a little straighter and eyes laughing behind his glasses. He faced Bruce directly, just a handful of inches and they would be touching. It was an unspoken challenge, egging Bruce on without any shame as Wally went about licking everything that hadn’t been put in the sink. _What are you going to do about it?_

Clark very much would want Bruce to do something about it, and he knew his Bat was far from blind.

-

The challenge couldn’t have been clearer unless Clark had thrown down an actual gauntlet and Bruce’s eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch as his chin dropped and eyebrow arched deliciously. “ _Peanut_ _butter_?” his tone was appalled, shocked that Alfred would allow such sacrilege in his kitchen but when he looked at the traitorous butler he was met with nothing but a shrug of a shoulder and a barely contained smile.

Bruce locked eyes with Clark and crossed his arms over his chest, reducing the distance between them by over half as he squared up with the man. Wally was looking from Clark to Bruce to Clark and back again as he furiously licked his fingers. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Kent, that chocolate chip are the tradition here…” he punctuated his faux-displeasure with a solid poke to Clark’s shoulder.

-

Clark looked insulted _._ He rubbed his chest like bullets didn’t regularly bounce off of it. “Well, Mr. Wayne.” Jab _. Jab. “_ Things change, and you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

Jab!

Then Clark leaned in, across the last handful of space that separated them to drop a kiss on Bruce’s lips, chaste and sweet and almost too fast to catch before he pulled away. The moment he remembered their audience was clear on his face. Clark flushed beet red.

“Ew.” Wally said emphatically, wrinkling his nose and pursing his lips. His face was covered in flour and peanut butter, and his black Batman shirt almost looked grey. He really didn’t have any room to judge.

Clark still laughed as he pulled away, helping Alfred put away the dishes, and the butler had long given up trying to dissuade Martha Kent’s lessons in courtesy. 

Meanwhile Wally turned to Bruce, drooling down his hand, and asked, “Will Mom pick me up for cookies?”

-

Bruce had just about enough and he was nanoseconds away from giving Clark a piece of his mind when the man had the sheer audacity to lean in and kiss him. His eyes widened and right before his eyes, Clark’s face bloom with the pretties shade of pink that Bruce had ever seen. It was mesmerizing. 

The thrall was broken with a pointed ‘ _ew_ ’ and Bruce had to laugh a deep, surprised but definitely pleased thing, that felt good in right down to his bones. He watched Clark helping Alfred, the strangest sensation of sanity, of propriety, of solace, of _home_. It dissipated with a single question from little Wally and Bruce sighed, smiling lightly as he leaned down and rested his elbows on the counter so he was eye to eye with the tyke. 

“Tonight is boys night,” no need to distress the kid with the truth that his mother was dead, he would be too young to understand and Wally would understand, if he remembered any of this when he got big again, “Only big boys allowed, hm?”

-

Clark had hid a smile, rather badly as he hurried over to do the dishes, and while Alfred didn’t look particularly pleased, Clark couldn’t say he looked bothered by it either. They weren’t normally so expressive. They never talked about it. Clark took what he could when Bruce offered, telling himself he was content as long as he could spend time with his best friend, but there was something nice about being able to kiss him when he wanted to.

Wally’s question had him tensing, ever so slightly, but enough for Alfred to send him a quick glance. Clark needn’t had worried. It was a job for Batman, and Batman pulled it off well enough.

Wally looked contemplative, tapping his sticky fingers against his chin, before he decided, “She doesn’t like peanut butter anyway.”

“Wally, don’t forget to eat your protein bar.” Clark called over his shoulder, just as Wally groaned but a growing speedster still needed about more calories than a tiger to survive.

And this was nice. Later, after they distracted Wally with a movie, Clark quietly dragged Bruce into the hall, a small smile on his lips.

-

The question about Wally’s mother had been a job for Batman and now, apparently, so was the issue of eating a protein bar. When the logic of caloric intake made the toddler’s eyes glaze over, Bruce switched tactics. He grabbed a bar and took a big bite before rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt to show the boy his well-developed bicep with the mostly-truth that if Wally didn’t eat his bar, he wouldn’t be able to get muscles like Batman. It worked surprisingly well.

Thanking the tech gods for netflicks, they got Wally settled and completely enthralled with a movie about a fish looking for his dad.. or the dad fish looking for his son… something along those lines. Bruce didn’t really care as he let Clark pull him into the hall with _that smile_ on his mouth, his own already pulling into a frown. 

Pulling his elbow free from Clark’s grasp, Bruce placed his finger against the man’s rock solid chest, “What were you thinking?” he hissed quietly, eyebrows knitting together as he tried to keep his focus on Clark’s too-blue eyes sort of succeeding except for when his own gaze flitted down to his mouth over and over again to Bruce’s chagrin, “What if he remembers you kissing me?” he stopped and shook his head with his eyes closed, wrong question to ask and he tried again, “Why did you kiss me?”

-

Clark needed to leave the room when Batman started talking about baby-weight lifting, and he made sure he was very far away before he burst out laughing. Alfred had far more restraint.

His good humor had lasted through picking out a Pixar film, and he chided Bruce unapologetically for his lack of pop culture awareness (”Really, Bruce, what are you going to do if you get a clown fish-themed villain next?”). The moment they were out in the hall, however, Bruce only needed four words to stick a pin in his good mood.

The reporter sobered, standing just a little straighter as he excused, “He turned into a three year old, Bruce. Convincing him he misremembered something won’t be difficult, and I don’t think anyone would believe him even if we can’t.”

-

There was something so decidedly wrong with the way that Clark’s face changed when Bruce chided him that he regretted it even as he continued with his questions. He pulled his hand back, running it through his hair in frustration not understanding why he was reacting the way that he was. He was _Bruce Wayne_ for pete’s sake, playboy extraordinaire, so skilled at making women swoon from just a look it really wasn’t fair to other men. But this, this was completely different. There was something going on here that he didn’t understand on any level and Bruce Wayne, worlds best detective Bruce Wayne, was not accustomed to this lack of comprehension.

The facts, as he knew them, were these: he had enjoyed the kiss; he didn’t like seeing Clark’s smile disappearing so quickly; their Tuesdays together were more than met the eye. Also in contention: kissing your friend in front of impressionable youths and curmudgeonly butlers.

“I…” Bruce’s anger dissipated, how could he be angry over something he’d enjoyed even if it meant scarring Wally and/or something being tossed in the rumour mill about them? Licking his lips and taking in a deep steadying breath, Bruce straightened as his features softened, “I’m sorry… this… look, this whole situation is confusing with Wally and.. everything.. but you can’t just… why did you kiss me?” 

This was the pivotal issue at hand and, until Bruce got an acceptable answer to it, it would be the only question he asked.

-

Clark squared his shoulders, his teeth gritting saw hard that his jaw jutted out, and it looked like he was seriously considering a trip across the globe that moment. It wouldn’t take much to fly away, he reasoned. He wouldn’t even have to see Bruce until the next alien invasion, and with any luck, that wouldn’t even be until next month. 

“You’re the World’s Greatest Detective,” he said, with a coolness that belied the unsteady beat of his heart. “It’s pretty simple. Why _else_ would you kiss someone?”

Then Clark exhaled, and it looked like all the wind had gone out of his sails. He scuffed his heel against the ground, trying and failing to look like anything other than a chastised school boy. He met Bruce’s gaze from behind his glasses, mouth pinched in an unhappy frown, but he couldn’t be crude about this. “No, Bruce, I’m sorry. I should’ve asked - at the least. It’s wrong to just, go around. Kissing people.”

If the ground could swallow him up, now would be a great time to do so.

“I wanted to, and I just thought… It’s not important now. I am sorry, though, and I promise this won’t affect us professionally. I’m better than that.”

-

Clark had a point. You didn’t kiss people you wanted to buy a car from, or the people who’s business you just aggressively took over, or the grocery store clerk, or the cop waking a beat minding her own business. There were, objectively, very few situations where kissing someone was appropriate and, since Clark and Bruce were not related, the answer was fairly obvious. But that had not been the point in Bruce asking and he quirked an eyebrow at the cool tone that belied a sort of petulant lash out against being reprimanded.

Just as suddenly as Clark’s good mood had fallen into bad, the irritation fell into unhappy acceptance of his misstep. 

“Hey, no…” Bruce took a small step forward and reached out take hold of Clark’s elbow, in case he had any ideas about trying to leave, “It _is_ important… I want to know or I wouldn’t have asked… talk to me…” he wished that the sounds of a distinctly stoned surfer weren’t in the background, that they were up on the roof enjoying the unusual clear and calm weather to stargaze a bit so they could talk like they had on previous Tuesdays. Bruce felt no regret or shame at cursing Wally and his stupid predicament.

-

Clark exhaled deeply, eyes darting to where Bruce’s hand settled over his arm before daring a glance at Bruce’s face. There was that same, intense focus in his eyes that Clark recognized from the times Bruce would find himself faced with a particularly difficult case. His heart raced in his chest, frantically trying to break through his ribs, but he didn’t run. Clark didn’t want to be anywhere else.

He let out a self-deprecating laugh, scratching the back of his head in chagrin, before he mumbled, “This would have been a lot easier if I just asked you out on a date instead of… showing up all the time.”

-

Clark was clearly uncomfortable but Bruce wasn’t going to let him off easy when he was feeling the exact same way. Maybe not exactly, there really was no way to be sure that Clark had an uneasy sense of anticipation in the possibility of what his motives actually were in his belly. Bruce hesitated to call it hope but it was at the very least bordering closely on the descriptor.

The reporter’s laugh broke a bit of the tension and Bruce let his hand drop. If he trailed his fingers down Clark’s forearm in the process, well, who was going to fault him for it? “Is… is that what this was?” Bruce felt like a bit of an idiot not having put two and two together quicker but to be fair, it wasn’t unusual for best friends to spend quality time together. He chuckled quietly as he shook his head, “It really would have been easier… think of all the kisses we’ve already missed, we’re going to have to catch up.” Just a little bit of the patented Wayne charm wasn’t technically cheating, was it?

-

Clark’s eyes widened comically in surprise, and his coke bottle glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. But he was already smiling, and he couldn’t seem to get himself to stop. 

“I mean, not now,“ he hastened to explain. “Now was mostly about me not having room in Metropolis to babysit or I would’ve volunteered sooner, but - I mean. Yes. Yeah.” Clark knew he was blushing. He knew it probably looked terrible, but his smile hadn’t gone anywhere, and Clark was feeling far too good about himself. He dared a step closer, until the distance between them was almost nothing, their toes almost touching, and it would be so easy now, so easy to _touch_  Bruce again. The idea was enough to make him shiver.

“I don’t know if that’s such a bad thing,” Clark said, trying for a more serious tone and failing miserably. “The last time we kissed it was kind of… Subpar, really. I think I’ll need another one. Just to see what the fuss is about.”

-

Bruce’s smile was as indomitable as Clark’s, the man’s babbling as adorable as the blush across his cheeks that brought out his freckles. He licked his lips as Clark stepped forward, wondering if he was going to take the chance, make that next move to kiss him again. 

He didn’t and Bruce dropped his chin ever so slightly. With the glint in his eyes that accompanied the action, it could have potentially been read as predatory and, in fact, was. With a smirk, Bruce slid one hand around Clark’s waist, pulling him in the last few inches so they were pressed together, his other hand coming up to brush the backs of his fingers over the freckled, warm cheek that teased him mercilessly. “Short, yes. Subpar? Not in the least but I will endeavour, Mr. Kent, to show you what the fuss is about, hm?”

Tilting his head slightly, Bruce closed the last few millimetres, pressing their lips together as he slid his hand back to the nape of his neck. It was substantially longer than their first kiss and much more delicious with a faint hint of peanut butter that made Bruce hum hungrily. Gently but insistently, he took a step forward and turned slightly, forcing Clark back until he hit the wall, giving Bruce something to push against to deepen it with a little lick of his tongue over the man’s lip. It brought a low rumble somewhere deep in Clark’s chest and Bruce resolved, right then and there, that he wanted to hear more of that.

That night, however, he wasn’t going to get his wish.

There was a strange pulse through the air, like an electrical charge, and it made Bruce’s breath catch in his throat, forcing him to break the kiss at the same moment there was a surprised shout and the sound of tearing cloth.

“Wh-where the HELL am I and what the HELL am I wearing??” Wally’s distressed voice, ever the subtle one when faced with uncertain situations, drew a laugh from Bruce as he pulled away and took Clark’s hand to lead them back to the living room to deal with the newly adultified man.

“You and I still have a lot of catching up to do,” he stated firmly with a smile, “Don’t think for a minute you’re getting off… well…. unless……” he let the innuendo out as thick as possible, just as they rounded the corner so that Clark would be as red and as flustered as humanly (and inhumanly) possible.


End file.
